


White noise

by aspalax



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post-Save Chloe Price Ending, Save Chloe Price Ending, character written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspalax/pseuds/aspalax
Summary: The consequences of saving Chloe Price would leave Max stumbling to justify her decision.





	1. Chapter 1

I don’t think either of us bargained for everyone to end up like they did. It was selfish. We knew it was selfish. Coming to terms with guilt so immense we now know is impossible. I still lie awake with the sickening feeling twisting myself into knots that I can’t overcome- waking up next to you, feeling like there’s the eyes of so many left behind gathered around us, whispering. 

We had to become numb to it- it was survival, we told ourselves, the deaths of hundreds we could have saved hanging over our heads. White noise- the static of the storm, the rushing of winds and the strangled gasping breaths of those swept up in the destruction, still so hauntingly familiar from our final drive through the city. It ate me up, it kept me awake, it left me staring at my own hands wondering who could live with themselves after doing such a thing. I was a criminal- a… a murderer. There was no other way it could be justified.

She was there, she always was, and she kept me warm in the winter months and told me that we’d work it out. But how could I believe her, when the wavering in her voice gave away she didn’t even believe herself. I kept catching her wrapped up in on herself, mumbling to herself, holding the remains of a photo frame in her hands, glass shards reflecting her hollow eyes. She seemed so  _ afraid _ , and it frightened me, because Chloe was usually brave enough for both of us. 

  
  


_ “Over to James for the weather now… Heavy rain and high winds are expec-” _   
I reached for it with an overwhelming amount of instinct and knocked the radio clean onto the kitchen tiles, shattering the plastic casing and causing the two batteries to roll across the full length of the floor. 

  
Chloe appeared from behind the door, confused. Her eyes were red but I couldn’t be sure if it was from smoking or crying.    
“I..” My words faltered, and I balled my hands into fists before hopelessly returning them to my sides.    
“What happened?”   
“...It was the weather… and… I didn't mean to…”   
She stepped over the wreckage of the little plastic radio and wrapped me up in her arms. I buried my face in her neck and mumbled a whole barrage of confusion and upset into her- I couldn’t tell you what I said anymore, it was such a blur of mixed-up feelings- and she just held me still and quiet for a while.   
“You have to trust me, Max.. You did what you thought was best. You saved my life. You’re so brave. So, so brave.”    
  
I wanted to believe her, reader, I really did. But I couldn't help but feel like I’d made the most cowardly decision of my life, and I’d be forever paying the consequences until I met the same fate. 


	2. Lost

I woke up, drenched in sweat from head to toe- my dreams had become haunting, full of the faces I had killed. Chloe drew me close, and I slipped easily into her arms once more. And thus this had become routine- she looked after me, and in turn, I admired her, adored her, gave her something to focus on and protect to drown out the noise of her own thoughts.

We fell easily into co-dependence; without her, I was haunted by the faces of Arcadia Bay; and without me, she descended quickly into depression over the loss of her mother and close friends. Together, we were a just about functional unit. I think that's how we got by all this time. We worked together, we cooked together, we cleaned together, we slept together. No-one knew what happened except her, and no-one would ever know me the way she did. Nothing will ever be the same way again, my whole life turned on it's head at the age of eighteen. There were no more photos. There were no more diner visits. There were no more after-school junkyard trips. 

I would never be a photographer. I couldn't even bear to look at the camera anymore, never mind take photos. I'd given up on my dream, no matter how much Chloe tried to convince me otherwise. My photos had only ever gotten me into trouble, I said. My photos will never be the same again, I said. I don't have anyone to admire anymore, I said. What's even the point in taking photos anymore?

So I spent all my time looking after a myriad of houseplants that littered our house, and playing guitar when I wasn't too busy with work, or the flat, or grief-stricken to my bed. But Chloe... She was just the same, but without any of the enthusiasm she used to have. She still played her music loud and sat alone in her room, but now she was sat listlessly by our window, smoking cigarette after cigarette into the sky, with glazed eyes and closed mind, and she would never speak a word. 

Lost. That's all we were... Drifting through each day with the goal of pure survival. It's hard to want to live after ending the lives of so many, and when you have such little to live for except each other. 

Today is a Thursday. Wake up. Shower, in the freezing cold water that seems to strip the skin from my bones. Clothes. Food. Keys. Leave.

Routine. I think that's what keeps a lot of people alive: when you have a routine, you know exactly how your day will be laid out in front of you from the moment you wake up: if you die, you break that chain, and those things will never happen. That responsibility, too- knowing that if you aren't there to do things, then no-one will. Maybe that's why business people get up every morning- they wouldn't want to be known as the one responsible for the downfall if they were to die.

I think, deep down, we all just want to serve a purpose.


End file.
